Talk:Sar'Dith the Dracolich/@comment-13747895-20130815181457
A Castled Hitch Horrid (A rag man ?) Of my ancestors I know little. Endless aeons have removed those distant memories and since my transformation I would resemble them in neither nature nor appearance. The only memories I have of my youth bring a faint recollection of sadness and a desire to crush my enemies and their offspring over many years - to bring a veritable curse down upon a line for eternity. There were years of lonely study in dismal chambers yet I was fortunate to be in possession of many antique tomes and I had infused the knowledge and powers of my parents. I suppose my parents gave me much but I recall having to break from them in order to pursue and realise my ambition, something which made me an outsider of my kind. Those are the few memories I have of that time. Since then my mind and form have reached beyond to the other that I have become. The place I have found myself in and what I suppose you could call my home is a place infinitely old. Above there are many passages and corridors and often I will hear the dying screams of those who have come to me yet have fallen foul of some trap or other inhabitant of this place. I suppose I must have lived for years here but to measure that time in a meaningful sense is impossible. Something must have been looking over me as I was never short of food or company as witness the piled-up corpses of dead generations around my chamber. Something of sentience brings them to me. Either that or madness. I find nothing unnerving in the bones and rotting flesh scattered around. To me these are the everyday. The screams, the clanging of steel, the rotting stench that pervades - to me these are more natural than blue skies, open fields, and the everyday affairs of those I have vowed to destroy until no son or daughter remains to carry their ancestral memories on. Their family trees shall become nothing but stumps.My home has a woody surround and is guarded by those who take shelter around the gnarled trees of the primeval forest. Since time immemorial the battlements have kept watch over the surrounds and from their turrets one may survey and keep track of the destruction me and my kind impart with indiscriminate wrath. It is true that they are wont to attempt to bring down my home stone by stone. Often we have come under attack yet we have always defied and prevailed. Our spacious home shall never hold court to, nor resound to, the sounds of a feast of the would-be usurper. One cannot put down that which eternal lies watching. There are no mirrors in my house and the best I can guess of my aspect is that it must somehow resemble the faint, cloudy, images I have of my parents and the pictures in the books I still have provide me with an approximation of that which I most likely have become. In dreams I see myself and in visions, yet the force of these visions often distorts... so as to my true current appearance I am oblivious. They say bad luck always comes in threes yet to me three is now a good omen for only three can reach me. A blessing indeed for me but a curse on the three who enter. In years gone by it used to be seven. Never a seventh son, though. There is a sound beneath the breeze, stone against stone, and I know that I am sought once more. The torches of my chamber burn steadily and freely and I turn my gaze to the portal through which they come to me. Seekers of horror and death. Food for my company. They do aid me so in my ambition, presenting themselves to me thus. Three more fathers or mothers to be scrubbed from existence and to take their place on my bone pile. There in the portal stand the three forms. One of the party is clad in a skull-like helm and long robes of a deep purple. His long black hair and red eyes, aflame with the deathly glare of the Hells (the like of which I have seldom seen), stir some memory in me as he begins his incantations without the usual accompanying gestures. His lips move yet no words issue. His shield reflects the glow of his companion's acid-green kukri. It shall matter little, his magics I shall penetrate. I do so love the game they play - hiding themselves by spell or stealth not knowing I see and feel all. Their wardings are of no use as doomed they are and never shall I rest until I complete their genocide. My archers set to and I wait... Then I make myself known to them and barely have I descended upon the three and entered their view than I sense a fear of great proportions welling up in them. Their faces fall and a silent scream issues from the essence of the kukri-wielder who runs in panic and falls in a faint to be finished by those who also walk here in the darkness with me. The other two cover their eyes briefly and the fiery-eyed one mumbles words to his god once again. They move towards me, bolstered by the blessings of some fledgling god, and make to challenge me. I toy with them for a while and then, bored with their antics, call for my minions to finish them off. They fall prone upon the slimy floor in death. Clawed... and pierced... and... dead. In the corner of my eye I detect a glimmering. A torch reflected in the face of the shield of the red-eyed one. Its surface made reflective no doubt in some futile attempt to resist my magics. As I approach the shield which has been flung, along with the severed arm of its wearer, to rest against the wall of my chamber, I perceive its design more clearly. Upon its surface I see in frightful vividness an indescribable monstrosity - perhaps etched there to instill fear in this erstwhile adventurer's enemies. The image on the shield is a composite of everything that is unclean and aberrant. The figure is skeletal yet with a great pair of wings spanning its spiked, twisted arch of a spine. In some far advanced state of decay, this putrid, eaten-away travesty leers at me with black abyssal eyes which seem to penetrate my soul with a black hatred and for a moment I am rooted to the spot. From where or whence the inspiration for this design came I cannot possibly say - it is certainly not of this world. The nameless image holds me as I ponder the grotesque carrion thing I espy. I make to touch the surface of the shield and am at once afflicted with the demonic shock of the unexpected for the thing of the dead moves to reach to me and I touch a cold surface of highly polished steel. I move back as realisation sets in. The monster that holds me in its gaze is none other than... me. The foetid apparition seen in the face of the shield is the death that comes to Dor Maeglin and its environs, avowed to destroy all remnants of that city and its inhabitants. Now I know what I have become and the effects of my studying and working of those ancient works of dark magicians... For I am Sar'Dith the Dracolich and you who read this shall soon know my fury as I stretch out my blanket of death over your realm and revel in the fall of your line. I ride with those of the night, the wraiths and ghouls that shriek on the winds and who also seek those who brought about their ends. Our vengeance shall be an avalanche and will annihilate in time even the memories of your kind. I am Sar'Dith and in my chambers here I know that the light is not for me. I will bring eternal darkness to this realm and rejoice in the unholy judgement I shall bring.